Sticks and stones
by rhitmcshanm
Summary: HGSS short story. The Potions Master finds Hermione in a moment of need


Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me and I am making no money off this story.

Author: rhitmcshanm

Rating: PG

Sticks and Stones...

***

"You…you…_Mudblood_."

Silence fell over the common room like a wave of water as one by one, the Gryffindor heads turned unerringly to the source of the commotion. Eyes wide with surprise, my friends stared at us disbelievingly. 

The insult was unexpected. We had been arguing. About homework, about school and teachers in general, and then, he said…that. My eyes widened in shock, and my breath caught in my throat. It was as though I had been punched in the stomach. I couldn't breathe, and my vision tunneled. Through the rushing in my ears, I managed to make out his apology.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Hermione," Ron gulped, his face as red as his hair. "I didn't mean that. You know I didn't mean that!" His voice was higher and faster than normal as he desperately tried to explain. His big blue eyes begged for forgiveness but that was something I couldn't give him right then. I knew on some level he _must_ have meant it. Why else would he have said it?

"I…I expect you did mean it," I said quietly, my eyes stinging painfully. I was going to cry. I could feel it. And I didn't want him to see. I didn't want him to know how much what he had said hurt. "Excuse me," I whispered getting up from the table. My chair tipped over and fell to the floor with a crash, but I didn't even notice. I swiftly crossed the room, all eyes on me. The tears were going to start falling. I could feel them pricking at my eyelids. Resolutely—and with some desperation, I pushed them back as I exited the portrait hole. As it shut behind me, I could just hear Harry and most of the rest of the room starting to yell at Ron. While I was glad my friends stood up for me, it didn't mitigate the terrible ache that was forming in the pit of my stomach. And in the middle of my chest. My breath was coming in short, high-pitched gasps, and there was this terrible pressure that wouldn't go away.

I hurried blindly through the halls searching for some place quiet and empty. I needed to think. There had to be an explanation—a reason—why he would say that to me. My logical mind required a reason. Not to mention my heart.

Before I knew it, I had reached the astronomy tower, which was, upon a quick glance, empty. I sat down with my back to the wall and just stared out the windows. I brushed at my cheeks and was surprised to find runnels of wetness created by tears. _Perplexing_, I thought inanely, _ I didn't think I had begun crying yet_. The tears just silently fell from my eyes. There were no wracking sobs or shaking—just those silent, unstoppable tears. And somehow, that made it worse. I wanted to scream and shout—to let it all out violently, but I couldn't

Over and over in my mind I replayed the scene. Ron and I had just been fighting about potions homework. He had been insulting Professor Snape, and while I'll admit that often times the man does deserve it, he _is_ the teacher and deserves some respect. Besides, I was more interested in finishing the work than denigrating Snape's personality—or lack thereof. The friendly argument had degenerated into a slightly less friendly fight. And then Ron had to go and make a complete bollocks of the situation by using…that word. Mudblood. Growing up in the Muggle world, I had hadn't known the magnitude of the insult when first called it. But over the years, I had learned. I had become reluctantly accustomed to receiving the insult from Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins, but I never would have thought that _ Ron_ would use it. And it wasn't just that he said it, it was _how_ he said it. He had said it quietly, viciously. He had meant it—even if he regretted saying it moments later, he had still meant it. The tears started anew. 

Through my tear-blurred vision, I stared up at the stars, searching for an answer.

A quiet clearing of the throat behind me caused me to give a start of fright, and I quickly craned my head around to see who was interrupting my solitude. Professor Snape. Wonderful.

He stood there, silently looming over me, but I made no effort to get up. I knew I was out past curfew, was probably going to get half a hundred house points taken, and I frankly didn't care.

"Leave me alone," I muttered, examining the tear stains on the front of my robes, not meeting his eyes.

Snape didn't say anything, but I heard a rustling of cloth. For one shocking moment, I thought he had left, but I was disabused of this notion when I looked up again. He was still there and in his hand was a black handkerchief. He held it out to me.

I was confused. Was Snape being nice to me?

"Take it," he growled, indicating the handkerchief with his eyes.

I slowly reached out my hand and took it from him. "Thank you," I whispered, using the delicately monogrammed hankie to wipe the tears away.

He nodded shortly and turned to leave. Before he crossed the threshold, I stopped him. "Professor Snape?" I said.

He turned around and answered, "Yes?"

I licked my lips, trying to find a way to say what I wanted to say, but finally just blurted it out. "Have you ever called any a…Mudblood?"

His eyes narrowed as he studied my tear-stained face and disheveled hair. Comprehension dawned. "No," he replied. "I never use vulgarities." He snorted quetly and said, "I feel that they are indicative of a limited vocabulary and intelligence." He turned to leave once again, but before exiting the room he said, "I sincerely doubt that Mr. Weasley meant it."

I was surprised anew by his perspicacity. "Then why did he say it?" I couldn't help but ask. I couldn't understand why I was discussing this with the Potions Master, but the fact that he was listening seemed good enough reason. And that he seemed willing to help me work it out.

"Doubtless he was fumbling around for a way to get your attention. Or he was losing an argument with you—as most people would—and latched onto the insult as a way to win it." At my gasp of surprise, he continued with a quirk of his eyebrow, "I miss very little, Miss Granger. Insults such as these, while hurtful, are more damaging to the one uttering them. I suggest you develop more confidence in yourself and your abilities, and these vulgarities will cease to affect you." 

I sniffed and shook my head saying, "How can something that is said with the intention to hurt not hurt?" I was perplexed by the logical puzzle he proposed.

He sat down across from me and steepled his fingers. "Words are not like hexes, Miss Granger," he said quietly. "A word is an intangible thing. It only has the meaning we assign to it." I nodded, and he continued, "I won't insult your intelligence by repeating the ancient adage about 'Sticks and Stones' but the gist of the saying is essentially true."

"So…" I said slowly, "…if I refuse to assign to the words a meaning that is offensive or hurtful to me, they no longer have any power over me?"

Snape looked at me in wonderment. "Miss Granger," he said, his voice reflecting his surprise, "how is it that a witch as eminently intelligent as yourself has managed to get through seventeen years of life without understanding this basic concept?"

A tart reply was on the tip of my tongue, but I bit it back. It was a valid question. "I…I guess I haven't ever really understood people," I admitted. "Books…books were always so much…cleaner. Clear-cut. If it was there on the page, it was there on the page. With people, you can never trust that what they say is truly what they mean." I paused, not wanting to admit what I was going to admit. "I…not exactly 'gave up' on them, but I decided to focus on the books instead."

"And that," Professor Snape said, "is why you were sorted in to Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Gryffindors' are notorious for their inability to see the subtleties of humans and humanity." He looked at me seriously and said, "It would be in your best interests to correct this oversight. As long as you fail to understand why people do what they do, you will be at their mercy—and at the mercy of your emotions."

I nodded again, thinking about what he said.

He stood up and looked down at me. He opened his mouth to say more on the subject, but closed it without uttering a word. Again he made to leave but stopped to add, "I would suggest you return to your tower. Filch usually checks this part of the building around this hour. You wouldn't want to lose any house points." With that, he swept out of the tower and down the stairs.

I just sat there for a moment contemplating what he had said. I absently ran my fingers over the fine stitching of the 'SS' as I contemplated what he had said. I knew that prejudice was very prevalent in the wizarding world and it was something that I was going to have to deal with constantly. It was naïve of me to believe that my best friend would be completely immune to what his 'culture' had been telling him. Perhaps it had been an honest slip of the tongue—born of anger and frustration. That didn't keep it from hurting, but it did at least explain it.

I sent a silent thank you to Professor Snape for his quiet words. I would make it a verbal thanks when I returned his handkerchief in the morning. I stood up, resolved and made my back down to the Gryffindor common room. Even after seven years of wizarding school, I still had a lot to learn about wizards. And for the first time, I was willing to devote myself to this area of study.

AN: No real notes this time. Just another little story in my never-ending quest to be different (and procrastinate on my other story). Hope you enjoyed it. I love feedback, so send it to rhitmcshanm@juno.com! 


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